Francis and the Shadows
by JustPaulInHere
Summary: Voldemort might have disappeared, but it came with a rather high price. Horace Slughorn could remember Lily, her infinite kindness, her beautiful empathy, as well as her ferocious determination. He could remember her, as he walked passed Francis' empty bowl.


**Author's Note :** This story has been written for The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Season 6, Round 4. I'm a Beater 2 for Chudley Cannons.

Bonus prompts used : (word) preposterous ; (dialogue) "Who's a good boy/girl?" ; (plot point) receiving a pet as a gift.

I had to write about a character losing a pet. This story is actually not what I was wanting to write, but wordcount and time made it like this.

Word count : 1627

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 _Francis and the Shadows_

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Horace was pacing the dungeons corridor with the same assurance he usually carried. He met a few students and exchanged a few words with them, but it was getting late now, and the dungeons weren't exactly crowded. He reached his apartments' door with clear relief; he was seeking calmness at the end of a rather rough day. He only felt the will to drop all his pretenses once the protecting charms were perfectly cast behind him, the door nicely sealed and closed. He could finally feel his own weariness and surrender to it completely.

A shy smile appeared on his lips. Francis was playing in his bowl, jumping to greet him; he was finally home.

"Who's a good boy? You were waiting for me, don't you ?" The goldfish played some more in the water at these words. "I wonder, were you waiting for me, or for the treats ?"

As he was talking, Horace gave the little goldfish some of these delights especially made for him, and watched as they sunk into the water. He watched as the fish played with his food before to eat it.

"I talked with the Headmaster today. I told him I want to take my leave from Hogwarts. It would be nice, wouldn't it? To leave this awful castle and live somewhere in the countryside? I would find one of those nice cottages one only finds in his dreams. Your bowl would be near a window, with a few on a little garden. I'm sure you would like it, Francis, wouldn't you?"

Horace continued his babbling, almost to himself, while wandering his rooms, seeking for a glass of alcohol, and his most comfy robe.

"Well, it's not as if this dream would happen anytime soon. Albus keeps chattering about how hard it is to find a proper potion master, or anyone willing to join Hogwarts with the war. He pressed on how I seemed pleased with teaching and meeting promising young wizards. I think he can't understand why I would ever want to leave my post."

The Head of Slytherin House slumped into a comfy armchair, near the freshly lit fireplace, and closed his eyes in true exhaustion.

"Well, that's not exactly as if I could tell him my true motives, could I?"

.oOo.

Horace liked his rooms at Hogwarts. He had lived here for quite some time now, and it felt like home. The place had been fully furnished when he had settled in for the first time, years ago, but he had changed most of the furniture to make it feel really comfy, how exactly he liked it, and there were a lot of his former student's gifts arranged everywhere.

He wrapped himself back in his thick robe and walked back into the lounge.

"Good morning, Francis. I bet we're gonna have a nice day."

The professor froze in disbelief before the tank. It was empty. Not even a single drop of water had been spilled on the counter. Francis had simply vanished into nothingness.

Horace reached for his wand, and assessed the situation. He wanted to know what might have happened to his dear Francis.

He closed his eyes shut in horror.

It wasn't very hard to complete the puzzle. He had heard the rumors, of course, every wizard in this country had. He had overheard some words of Albus over the matter. But, until now, he had not believed the situation was so hopeless. He had refused to see the reality of it, for his own sake.

Many years later, Horace could still remember those days. He could remember how it had been to survive in a world full of grief. Lily's death had really struck him hard. He had worn only black clothes for a month. Lily and James Potter had not been related to him, but their tragic destiny had left its mark on him. He knew Lily, she was one of the students he had become close to. He knew his little club wasn't innocent, it was a complex social game of favours. But, Lily had seen something else in it, and in him. She had not offered him Francis on a whim. She had known, discovered somehow, that he was experiencing quite a hard period of his life.

The First Wizarding War was raging on, and Horace could read more and more about Voldemort's acts in the wizarding press. It wasn't hard at all to see what a mistake he had done to help this boy in his chase for power and dark magic rituals. Yet, this thought was not the living nightmare it had grown into now. Lasting happiness was hard to find, yes, but he lived well nonetheless. He had lost one of his most dearest friend, and this loss was a hard one to live through in such a context.

Lily's act of magic had been beautiful to watch, but not because of her skills. It had been a gift, not made to owe him and his favours, but to help him. She had done so, not because of what he was, but because she had understood who he was, the pain he was feeling and trying to keep a secret from everyone. She had felt his distress, and decided to do something for him, and had made a clever and magnificent choice.

Horace had loved Francis the moment he had seen him, not because of who he was, but because of what he was; this act of empathy. He had learned to know Francis better over time, because Lily was a bright and powerful witch, and the pet she had created was a smart and complexe magical creature.

Horace barely remembered anything from the day Voldemort had disappeared. He remembered the pain, the sadness, and how helpless he had felt. Whenever he thought about this day, he experienced those dreadful feelings again, and their intensity had barely lowered with the passing of time.

For days, there had been people chatting about it in the corridors, students and staff alike, and the harsh reminder of Francis's empty tank in the entryway of his apartments. Horace knew people were still celebrating all over the country, but he didn't care. He had barely skimmed though a few articles in the Daily Prophet about the Dark Lord's defeat, and felt only ashes in his mouth throughout any meal.

Voldemort might have disappeared, but it came with a rather high price. Horace could remember Lily, her infinite kindness, her beautiful empathy, as well as her ferocious determination. He had had to fight back the urge to cry right there more than once; in the Great Hall; in the Dungeons; in his own classroom. She was no more, and it seems like he would mourn this bright witch for a long, long time.

"There is a certain matter I shall discuss with you, Horace," Dumbledore told him a few days after Lily's death.

"What is it about, Albus?" he answered in a dreary voice.

"I might have found someone willing to teach potions at Hogwarts. I'm sure you'll approve of him. He was one of your dear students once, and a most talented potionist!"

Horace felt a sick hope illuminate his being at Dumbledore's words, and it felt so wrong. He shouldn't be allowed to feel hope in his world. Would he finally be given release now? Finally be able to fly from this damn castle and his own regrets? He could run away and hide his secrets far from this place and the very man he was talking with.

Yet, this victory was a defeat in its own definition. Wizards might be celebrating throughout the country Voldemort's death, but he knew the Dark Lord would return. He knew he had played his part in this and he hated himself for it.

"Well, I must say I'm surprised about your change of mind, Albus. Who is it?"

"Severus Snape."

Horace felt suddenly beyond sick, he wanted to throw up and had to play on a huge lie to hide it from the Headmaster. He most certainly failed, though. He also had to fight back the rage growing in his guts. He knew Snape very well, he had been a promising young man once. However, in the end, he had been no more than a disappointing character. Horace knew he had become one of Lord Voldemort's followers.

"Why... Are you mad Albus? A Death Eater, here at Hogwarts? This is preposterous!"

"Severus is no Death Eater. I trust him and he needs my help as well as employment. I remember you talking to me more than once about your wish to retire."

Horace couldn't help but feel like this had been a mere trap set by Albus. Merlin knew how devilish this man could become when he was up to something. Horace had to make up for his choice, and now.

"That's right, but... Albus, you might trust that boy. I don't. Besides, it's November, I don't think it would be wise to leave my classes unattend in the middle of term. You have to think about these students exams…."

"I thought about it, Horace. If you are willing to, I suggest you spend some time with Severus, here at Hogwarts, and help him get accustomed to the teaching part of the job. I think he might be a good Head of House for Slytherin, but he certainly lack the most common sense of teaching skills."

"Well, I can remember very well how skilled he was to escape to those enraged Gryffindors, James Potter and Sirius Black... the golden boy and the barking menace! If I were you, my dear friend, I would fear for Gryffindor House's honour. You won't get the House Cup back so soon."


End file.
